


If the Fates Allow

by Linguini



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Fandom Secret Santa 2015, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 10:29:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5582229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linguini/pseuds/Linguini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three times the MJN members spent Christmas alone, and one time Arthur made it better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Carolyn and Arthur

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TomatoFujoshi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TomatoFujoshi/gifts).



> For Tomatofujoshi, the most festive of all fruits.

It’s a bright blue cloudless afternoon, and not a single shop is open. Arthur is sleeping in his cot, cuddled up with the plush polar bear Ruth had sent and tucked under a blanket Gordon’s mother had mailed from Australia, and the house is obnoxiously still and silent. Carolyn sighs and re-settles the blanket around her son, then wanders into the kitchen for her fourth cup of coffee that morning, running her fingers idly under the pictures the line the wall--artistic shots of Paris, Shanghai, Kigali Bali--all reminders of her former high-flying life as an airline hostess.

The fridge holds a cornucopia of food, all of it very expensive and none of it actually appealing. She settles for a slice of the cheesecake that had been intended for the party to which she and Gordon have been invited at the Hamilton-Baxter’s and to which she has no intention of dragging herself alone. It’s Christmas and she’s alone in a very large, very cold, very expensive house. She’ll eat the damn cheesecake if she likes.

Arthur’s cry pierces the silence just as she’s pressing her fork into the last bits of crust on her plate, and she only barely manages not to sigh. She loves her son with all her heart--far more, truthfully, than she had been expecting to--but a long hospital stay followed by longer nights when he’d been released mean she’s at the absolute end of her tether, with no relief in sight. Wearily, she pours another mug of coffee and heads up the stairs. 

When she appears over the top of his cot, he smiles at her, hands opening and closing as he gurgles a bit. Carolyn picks him up and holds him close, letting him mouth at her neck for a moment before he settles. With a sigh, she sinks into the chair in his nursery and strokes his back gently, humming old love songs to him.

And that’s how the two of them spend their first Christmas together--alone against the world in the soft orange glow of the streetlight outside.


	2. Martin

It’s absolutely chucking down rain outside, hard enough that the water bounces back up off the pavement. It is only slightly less chucking it down inside, and Martin sighs as he slips on a hoodie three sizes too big for him. He thinks it might be one of the old students’, left behind in the mad rush at the end of the year, but he’s a long way from caring. For now, it’s the second warmest thing he owns, and the fourth layer in his armor against the cold of the room. The boiler’s been out for days now, and while the landlord is paying to have a brand new one put in, it won’t be until after the new year. Martin’s been making do with showers in whatever cheap hotel Carolyn puts them up in, but when he’s home, he’s relegated to huddling in his bed with endless mugs of tea and soup. When he’s not on a moving job, that is.

Some of the students have put strings of lights around his door, in an attempt to make his room a bit more cheerful, and a couple of presents have been left at his door, though one is addressed to “Mark Crieff.” Those, coupled with the few presents his mother had shipped down after he’d called to tell her he wouldn’t be coming home for Christmas (couldn’t, with the jobs he’d lined up) serve to occupy him for almost an hour. Each one is unwrapped carefully, paper saved and set under a pile of outdated manuals to flatten out for use next year. There’s nothing from MJN, not that he expected anything. Two months of working together isn’t really enough to be getting one another gifts anyway.

The blanket his mother knitted is warm, and while the aeroplane design in the center isn’t exactly technically accurate, the thought is heart-warming anyway. The present for “Mark” is a calendar of old Blitz-era aircraft, and goes up on the wall, and the DVD Simon sent with a Spitfire documentary is one he’s already seen, but still worth a watch. Martin shuffles down to the kitchen to warm up the meal he’d splurged on from Sainsbury’s and dig out the dessert.

The night passes quietly, rain eventually petering out to a light drizzle, and when Martin falls asleep, curled up in the mass of blankets and duvets on his bed, he dreams of wings the color of sunshine against a clear blue sky.


	3. Douglas

It’s cold and snowing outside, nearly two feet already on the ground and the possibility of at least a couple inches more, and Douglas has absolutely no intention of going anywhere for the next few days. What he hesitates to admit, even to himself in the sanctity of his own home, is that it’s mostly because he has nowhere to go. He’s only just achieved his fourth month of sobriety, and with a one-year chip a prerequisite for any contact with his ex-wife, let alone his daughter, familial doings are out of the question. So, too, is the annual Air England Christmas party, if for no other reason than being fired with little ceremony and even less concern tends to render one a veritable pariah at social events.

So, on Christmas Eve, Douglas finds himself trying to compensate for the gnawing ache behind his breastbone with cooking--roast lamb with his favorite vegetables, with a decadent chocolate dessert for pudding, and the best coffee he can find. The first bite is heaven, but the second less so and the third turns to sawdust in his mouth. Eventually, he gives it up as a bad job, putting the food away and drifting to the sitting room to sit listlessly in his armchair. But nothing holds his attention for long--not reading, not playing the piano, nothing on the telly.

And then somehow, without thinking about it, he finds himself digging through his drinks cabinet for a bottle of whiskey, a distillation of his arrogance and pride in a cut-glass decanter. With absolutely steady hands, he pours himself two fingers, congratulating himself on his temperance as he takes the first sip. He’s still congratulating himself when the delicious burn kicks in and he swallows the second glass, and the third. Each is an exercise in self-delusion, a test, he tells himself. His control is absolute, and he can stop whenever he likes.

Until, somewhere around the fifth glass (or is it the seventh?), he realizes his control has slipped away. And, as the warmth infuses his bones from his slumped position on the sofa, light from the fire commanding his full attention, and snow outside swirling in beautiful patterns, he decides he cannot bring himself to care.


	4. Arthur's Party

“Martin!” Arthur cried as he opened the door. “You made it! Come in!” Then, he looked again. “And Douglas, too!” He enveloped them both in an enormous hug before either could protest.

Douglas grinned at him and held out a bag of wrapped presents. “Of course we made it,” he said. “How could we miss the Arthur Shappey patented Christmas celebration, complete with authentic Christmas meal, Christmas decorations, Christmas presents, and Christmas cheer?” He winked at Martin, feeling a warmth suffuse him when Martin returned it with a smirk.

“And Christmas stockings!” Arthur exclaimed, and tugged them both inside. Then, he disappeared into the sitting room, returning with mugs of something warm that smelled of cloves and cinnamon.

“Arthur,” Douglas said, a touch warily. “You know…”

Martin nudged him gently, licking his lips. “It’s fine,” he said softly. “Douglas-proof.” And gave Douglas another, smaller, smile. 

Douglas smiled back and tapped their mugs together. The drink was surprisingly good, and his eyebrows raised in approval. “So it is. Seems our young cub can be taught after all.” 

The two of them followed Arthur into the sitting room, and stifled nearly identical smiles at the sight of Carolyn Knapp-Shappey, CEO of MJN Air, balancing precariously on a stepstool. “Shut up,” she said pre-emptorily. “Not a word.” And she stepped down, but not before Douglas caught sight of the sprig of mistletoe she palmed and hid in her stocking. 

“Happy Christmas,” he said, stepping forward and kissing her cheek before handing over two wrapped packages. 

She allowed the kiss graciously, then scowled down at the presents. “I’m certain you’re not daft enough to think that gettin me gifts will, in any way, reduce your working schedule.”

“Of course not,” Martin said quickly, turning to look at the tree to keep the smile that threatened at the corners of his lips from giving him away. “Just...consider them offerings due a goddess of schedules.”

Carolyn huffed and rolled her eyes, but didn’t jab back, and Douglas swiped congratulatory fingers lightly over Martin’s back surreptitiously.

Just then, Arthur returned, informing them that dinner was ready and waiting for them. When they got in, they found the table lavishly (if somewhat garishly) decorated, with a cracker at every place and tinsel taped to the sides. Douglas took his place across from Martin and immediately slid his foot over to rest against his ankle.

Arthur disappeared again into the kitchen, coming out with plate after plate of food--roast beef and Yorkshire puddings and veg--all of which, looked surprisingly edible. Everything was dished out quickly, and the four of them dug in.

“Do you remember,” Douglas said, side-eyeing Carolyn with a smile on his lips. “The airfield manager we met? The one with the outrageous accent?”

Carolyn laughed. “There were at least six of those,” she reminded him. “Especially that one in Germany. I’m still convinced he heard of Martin’s fondness for the Red Baron and was having us on.”

“Hey!” Martin protested, then looked across the table when Douglas pressed his foot against Martin’s gently. It’s a joke, the gesture said, and he swallowed back his indignation. “Or….he had heard about your ruthless efficiency and wanted to make you feel at home,” he finally managed to shoot back.

The look Carolyn gave him was offended, but the mirth in her eyes was unmistakable. “Douglas, tame your Martin.”

Douglas just raised his hands mock-helplessly. “He speaks the truth. What can I do?” And then Martin dissolved into giggles, which set off Douglas and Arthur and even had Carolyn smirking. 

The rest of dinner continued in the same fashion, as did the cleaning off the table. The four of them settled in the sitting room with a mug of something warm in their hands and opened their gifts. Then, sated by the delicious food and the warmth of the room, they slipped into teasing conversation and remembrances, everything from favorite films to past flights with Air England.

Martin was in the middle of a story when a Douglas’s weight shifted subtly, leaning more against him. Turning his head, he found the older man asleep, head tilted against Martin’s shoulder, still with the blue scarf wrapped around his neck that Arthur had given him. A fond smile curled the corners of his mouth as he carefully pulled the mug from Douglas’s hands, letting him stay as the rest of them continued the conversation.

Eventually, Arthur started to droop, too, and Carolyn offered the guest room, which Martin gladly accepted. (Secretly, he’d not been looking forward to chivvying 16 stone of sleepy Douglas home). The three of them managed to poke and prod their fuzzy First Officer into the room, and Martin managed to get him stripped down for bed, pushing him under the duvet before crawling in next to him.

Instinctively, Douglas turned, wrapping his arm around Martin’s waist and curling close, nuzzling Martin’s throat and breathing in deeply. “Goo’ nigh’?” he mumbled.

And Martin, who had never really had a friendly Christmas before, pressed his nose to Douglas’s hair and dropped a kiss there. “Practically perfect,” he murmured. And so, curled up with the man who had surprised him with his affection and love in the house of his two next closest friends, he let his eyes slip shut and finally felt at home.


End file.
